Lie
by generalsleepy
Summary: Hogan/Newkirk. From the prompt: "It was never about you."


"It was never about you."

Hogan stared across the table, forcing himself not to look away. Newkirk's jaw shifted and his muscled tightened, but he didn't look away either. The gray eyes bored into him, tightly controlled, but with just enough emotion bleeding through to stab Hogan in the gut: traces of anger, shock, pain, and, above all, betrayal.

Hogan gathered all of his strength to push forward, while keeping his voice smooth, unguarded. "You know what I mean. We were locked up in there, twenty-four/seven, no one else. If we hadn't we'd have gone stir-crazy. I know it was the same with you to me. I don't regret it. It was just what we needed in there."

He'd spent his life lying. When he was a child, he'd learned that he had a knack for making people believe what he wanted them to. He could tell what people wanted to hear and what they thought they saw when they looked at him. He knew how to craft the lie, to choose the moment, to style his face his voice just right. It was second nature to him. He'd spent his life coasting on lies, and it had gotten him far.

There was always that moment where the lie hung in the air, where he could only wait to see if it would stick, watching for that subtle change in the mark's face that told him that his fiction had become their truth.

His heart pounded in his chest, like it was trying to crack his sternum. This time, it wasn't from exhilaration of wondering whether he'd gotten one over on someone. Now, there was nothing he wanted less than for the lie to take. But, deep down, he also knew that it had to.

Newkirk leaned back in his chair. His hands went flat on the table. The corner of his mouth lifted in a humorless smile. "Right. Of course. Just circumstances."

Hogan had never felt like a more cold, empty, heartless bastard. He wished Newkirk had yelled at him, thrown a fist. He could deal with that—not Newkirk just accepting what Hogan had done to him.

He remembered clearly the nights that he and Newkirk had spent talking about what they'd do once the war was over. They lay wrapped up in the thin, scratchy blankets, bodies pressed close to keep out the cold. They talked about what they had back at home. Newkirk's sister was waiting for him. Hogan's apartment was empty and he'd given his dog away to a friend.

"You're coming back to London," Newkirk declared. His arm was wrapped tight around Hogan's side, their mouths close enough to share breath. "We can find our own place. After spending bloody years making Kraut uniforms I can sew anything. You can talk your way into any job. No problem."

"Do I have a say in this?" Hogan asked with a smile. He stroked the warm skin of Newkirk's bare shoulder.

"Well, unless you want to stay on after we get out of here. Then I'll know you've gone stark ravin' mad. Even for an officer." He smirked. "Or unless you're tired of me. We have been cooped up a long time."

"No." Hogan cupped his cheek, his voice low. "No, that's not going to happen."

They were huddled in the tunnels after a minor cave-in, the first time the tension between them snapped, and Newkirk grabbed him and pushed him against the wall. They tore off just enough of each others clothes to finish before the others had the chance to rescue them. After that, they had no reason not to take whatever moments they could, in the tunnels or Hogan's office or hiding in a barn while bombers flew overhead.

Once, Hogan had been confronted by Hochstetter, the Gestapo nearly onto the whole operation. Soon, Hogan's only option would have been to try to minimize the fallout and convince them it was all him. Hochstetter stared him down and told him that he would do all he could see him in front of a firing squad. Klink stammered, but they both knew there was nothing that he could do. That night, with Newkirk in his bed, he said words he had never meant to. He thought that he would regret them with all his being. Instead, he his chest just felt lighter, even more when he heard them repeated back.

They found their way out of the mess, the last time that they saw Hochstetter before he found himself under an Allied bomb. They never talked about what they'd said, but sometimes Hogan could read the words in Newkirk's smile. As American troops marched closer, the camp was torn between adulatory and tense as they wondered what could happen in these last days. The way that he and Newkirk spoke became more and more bold. He let himself believe that it might all be over, and there might be something on the other side.

They were so fucking close.

In Hogan's new office at the Allied camp, Newkirk idly traced a circle on the desk. His pose was trying to be casual, but clearly tense as a coiled spring.

"Like I said, no need to regret. We had some good times."

"Most fun you can expect to have as a prisoner of war," Newkirk quipped. "We sure had some good laughs."

Those last few words hit Hogan like a bullet to the heart. He knew he'd just made the worst mistake of his life.

This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He told himself that once they were free, and they were cleared to go home, he would leave. He'd given the Air Force all he could. There was nothing more that he needed to prove. Newkirk was right, he could find his way anywhere. Four years in a POW camp, risking his life constantly, they couldn't expect more of him.

Then, they pulled him in front of the General. They told him about their plan to plant a spy in Soviet-occupied Germany, the set-up they'd constructed for him to continue his work, how he was the only one for the job. When they described what he could accomplish, how many lives he could save helping people escape to Allied territory, he knew that they were right. He knew that he could continue to do good with his skills. He knew that his life, compared with that greater good, wasn't important.

They offered to let him take along some of his old crew. Hogan spent one night lying awake thinking, before he decided that there was no way that was happening. LeBeau, Carter, Baker, all of them deserved to go home to their lives and families. They deserved to not to spend another second behind bars.

If he told them that he was headed off on another dangerous, secret mission, he knew from years of experience that they would follow him, and he wouldn't be able to talk him out of it. So he lied. He told them he would just be staying on a while longer, at least until the occupation was over. Then, they agreed when he told them to take their chance at freedom.

But there was Newkirk. That lie wouldn't matter to him. They'd made their plans, and he wouldn't leave without Hogan, no matter what. Not after all they'd said and done in Stalag 13. Hogan was certain that he wasn't going to drag Newkirk back with him into another war, maybe worse than what they'd gone through before. He loved him too much for that.

So, Hogan had to give him a reason to go home. And he'd sure as hell had succeeded.

"Right," Hogan said.

For a second, they just stared at each other. Hogan broke first. His eyes fell to his hands clasped on the desk. He was doing the right thing, the only thing he could, but that didn't stop him from feeling like a goddamned coward.

"Well," Newkirk said, voice clipped. "I ought to get back. Chow soon." He stood. Hogan looked back up. Gazing straight into his eyes, Newkirk raised his hand in a salute. "Colonel."

He turned on his heel, and before Hogan could say anything, walked out the door.

The door closed softly, but to Hogan it felt like a slam. He stared at the space where Newkirk had been, while his mind screamed.

 _No! You idiot! You fucking idiot. You ruined it all. You had everything, and now it's gone._

Hogan held his breath. There was still time. He could picture himself jumping to his feet, running after him, telling him it was all a lie, telling him it was always about him, telling him _I love you, Peter_ , facing whatever came together.

He pressed his palms to the arms of the chairs, but stayed seated. It was a flip of the coin now. If he made the wrong choice, he'd look back on this exact moment as the worst regret of his life.

He sat alone, watching the lie hang in front of him, as the last seconds in which he could take it back ticked away.


End file.
